I am not an old man!

 A little while back, I was talking to Amy on the phone about when she wanted to come over and if she wanted to watch a movie or something, and I asked her “Have you eaten dinner yet?” to which she replied “Honey, it’s 4:30 in the afternoon. What the hell is wrong with you? You're such an old man!”

I am SO not an old man!

So I like to eat an early dinner. What’s the big deal? The only reason I like to eat so early is because I wake up at 5am and I get hungry early.

The only reason I wake up at 5am because I like to go to bed at 8:30-9:00. The reason I go to bed so early is because I like to sleep.

So what if I have a hard time staying awake after 10:00 on a Saturday. I could stay up late if I wanted! Just the other night, Amy and I had a pretty wicked game of Scrabble going on until at least 11:00. It was awesome! Of course I didn’t really have any regular time on the toilet for a couple days, but that’s what happens when your sleeping schedule gets thrown completely out of whack!

So what if I don’t’ like to drive over 60 mph on the freeway or drive after dark. Speeding is dangerous! I could get in an accident and that’s the last thing I need. Do you have any idea how much prescription medication costs, especially when I’m on a fixed income?  Speeding also wastes gas and gas is expensive! When I was a kid, gas was .50 a gallon. Everything is so damn expensive nowadays.

Driving at night is dangerous too. After dark is when all the damn teenagers are out speeding all over town, blasting their rock and roll music, smoking the pot and probably having sex. That’s probably when they mess with my lawn, too. DAMN KIDS! If I ever catch them I’m gonna kick their asses from hell to breakfast! The other night, on my third trip to the bathroom (or was it my fourth) I looked out the blinds and I swear I saw some of those little bastards walking down the street, up to no good I’m sure.

So what if I’m bald and deaf as a post? I was in a rock band 20 or so years ago and…well…um…

20 years ago….

So I go to bed early, wake up early and eat dinner early. Lots of people do that.

Outside of some Motrin, my medicine cabinet is medicine free. There is no prune juice or fiber supplements in my fridge and I can still walk without assistance (although my back is usually pretty stiff in the morning)

I am a young, spry 40-something and I’ll be damned if I’ll be called an old man yet!

Now where did I put my glasses?

Man's Best Friend

My girlfriend says I spoil my dog.

As I’m sitting here typing this, Tex is running around the house with the loudest squeaky you’ll ever hear and you know, it doesn’t bother me a bit. I actually go out of my way to buy him loud ones, because I know he loves them and that makes me happy.

Dewey used to snore like a lumberjack and I remember, after we all settled down to go to bed, he would always fall asleep while I read, and so many of those nights, I would set down my book and just listen to him snore for the longest time. He was my baby boy and it didn’t bother me a bit.

90% of the time, when I’m watching a movie, Tex is on my lap or at my feet. Every night when I go to bed, he’s lying next to me.

Sometimes he stinks and could use a bath, but I don’t care.

Sometimes Tex chews up the mail and he usually lies at my feet when I’m eating. He doesn’t beg or let out a peep, but he’s there waiting, in case I drop something.

Some people would find it annoying, I find it endearing.

The way Tex darts into the kitchen when I say the word spaghetti and the look he gets on his face when I ask if he wants a treat or wants to go for a walk or for a ride just melts my heart every time without fail.

The way he nudges my face in the morning when he wants his breakfast makes me want to get out of bed instead of roll over and go back to sleep.

My heart is filled with joy every day because of this beautiful little dog I was blessed enough to stumble across.

My dog isn’t the spoiled one…

I am.

Oh sweet sweet Winter. How I hate thee.

I will start by saying that I hate the cold. I really really hate the cold. I don't like snow, or rain, I do kinda like fog, but that's only because at night it's creepy. I've never seen sleet, so I can't really comment on that, but I'm guessing it sucks as bad as all the other wintry crap we have to deal with from November to February (I also don't like when people peonounce the "r" in February, it sounds pretentious. I'm not too fond of the "r" in raspberry either) but I digress...(not too crazy about people saying that either)

I'm pretty okay with wallowing in my own hate for winter, but what really chaps my ass is when someone says "Oh, I love this time of year" or "Oh my, I LOVE the rain!" What's even worse is that asshat that, without fail, whether we're in a drought or not, says "You know, we really need the rain." I could be floating down the street in a canoe in the middle of June and you know damn well that same jerk will still be saying that we need the rain.

I don't like having to put on four layers of clothes to go to the store, nor do I like having a runny nose and numb fingers after being outside for 60 seconds

I'm a summer kind of guy and I like it hot. I have no problem hopping on the bike and riding 50 miles when it's 100+ degrees. I love it! I guess living with Sacramento summers for 25 years has done that to me.
Now I'm sure there are some weirdos out there that are thinking "How can anyone say they like it when it's 100 degrees out? It's so miserable"  Well let me tell you that you're wrong, I'm right and this is my blog so that's that. You can go around the corner to the guy who hates summer's blog a read his blather.

Now I get the whole "light a fire and snuggle up on the couch with your pookie and watch  movies all day on a rainy Saturday. Who doesn't like that every once in a while? I've been known to pick up a presto log and a few romantic comedies on occasion, but mainly it's only because THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO DO!!! .

Acceptable reasons for liking the winter-

1) Skiing
2) Snowboarding

I've never skiid...what? Skeed...skid...skiide...how the hell DO YOU SPELL THAT???

I've never liked skiing, so I can' t love winter for that. I used to snowboard, but I don't anymore, so there goes that reason.

So really, there are no reasons to like winter anymore.

I guess for me, it really boils down to time on the bike. Which, in this shit weather, is virtually nil. I thrive when on my bicycle and am noticeably grumpier when I can't be on it at least four days a week.
Every year it rains and every year I bitch about it. You'd think I'd learn to just suck it up and learn to enjoy the time off, but I can't. I just can't.

So to all you people that "love" the rain so damn much...

Well, I don't really know what to say to you, but when I do think of something witty and sassy to say to you, you can bet I'll say it and you'll be all like "whoa, he really hates the rain and the people that love it."

I'm gonna go not ride my bike now.

Ironman Cozumel 2010

Let me start by saying that this was an absolutely fantastic trip. However, if I were to tell the entire story of the travel and the days leading up to, and after the race, I’d be here all night and I doubt I’d be able to keep your attention. This is going to be long enough as it is…

I met some great people, had some fun times and did a LOT of running around in preparation. I’ll leave it at that.

So here are the race day details.

Woke up at 4am. Surprisingly, I got a pretty good night’s sleep, which I really didn’t think I’d get, being that I was fairly nervous. Unfortunately, I don’t know that I can say the same for Karen (my roommate for the trip) as apparently I tend to snore (sorry)

The hotel was gracious enough to start serving breakfast at 4am, so I headed down there and grabbed a waffle, a couple eggs and pounded a couple cups of coffee. I sat with a woman who was also doing the race (her 2^nd Ironman) so we chit chatted for a few minutes, said our “break a leg’s” and I headed back to get my stuff together since we were leaving at 5am.

We got to Chankanaab Park, where the start was and it was such a sight. There were thousands of athletes mulling about, slathering on sunscreen, loading their water bottles and food on their bikes and making final adjustments. It was total mayhem. Luckily, I didn’t really have much to do, so I took care of my crap and started to head towards the start line to watch the pro’s start.

Off went the horn and off went the pro’s. That meant 20 minutes until start time. Right then it kinda hit me. In 20 minutes I was going to be starting my first Ironman. It didn’t make me nervous, it made me proud. After all the months of hard work, it was finally here!

I ran into a nice couple I met in the airport a few days prior and we chatted on our way to the dock to get into the water. It was their first IM too and I could tell they were just as excited as I was.

I hopped off the dock into the water and thought about where I wanted to move for the start and figured I’d go ahead and try to work my way close to the front. I got to my spot and just kind of soaked in the moment.

The Swim -

Before I knew it the horn went off and I was swimming with over 2,000 other people. The best way to describe it is like swimming in a washing machine with arms and legs flailing everywhere. It certainly wasn’t the same calm water we had during our practice swims.

The first 800 meters or so was all about trying to avoid getting clobbered. Deep breaths were hard to come by, but I knew after a while, it would start to thin out and I’d be able to get into a rhythm, and that’s exactly what happened.

After making the turn at the second buoy, I was pretty much on cruise control. I found my stroke (and my breath) and felt great. The water was crystal clear and every once in a while I’d se some fish, or a scuba diver. It was just about the most perfect swim you could ever want.

The last few hundred yards were pretty damn exciting. Knowing that I was almost done with the first leg was super cool. I just kept thinking “One down, two to go!”

Swim time: 01:17.00

Transition 1

The transition from the swim to the bike was about a 200 yard run down a boardwalk past hundreds of spectators. I peeked down at my heart rate monitor and saw that my heart rate was 169, WAY higher than I wanted it to be, so I made myself slow down and slowly jog to the transition tent.

I grabbed my bag of stuff, found a chair, put on my arm covers, helmet, sunglasses and sunblock and headed towards the door. On the way out I grabbed a glob of Vaseline to “lubed the chassis” and ran out of the tent to my bike.

It was about a 100 yard run from where by bike was to where I could mount it, but I was so buzzing, it seemed a lot shorter.

T1: 5:56

The bike –

There were so many people crowded in a small area trying to get on their bikes I had to dodge quite a few. I wondered “did these people even practice this stuff before the race?”

As soon as I hopped on my bike though, I got up to speed, slipped my feet into my shoes and was off.

I was still pretty buzzing and my heart rate was higher than I wanted it to be, so I forced myself to go slower than I felt like going. My goal was to keep my heart rate under 155 the entire race, whether I felt like it or not.

The bike course was great. Mostly flat, with a few false flats, so I knew I’d be okay, as I did virtually all my training on the flats.

The east side of the island was absolutely breathtaking. The road was pretty much right along the beach. While this made for a fantastic view, it also made for some pretty brutal winds (which made it hard to enjoy the fantastic view). It was far away from the city, so there were no spectators and no cheering. It was just me, my bike and the wind.

Whatever, I just put my head down and kept pedaling. I made sure to take a bite of something every 10-15 minutes, was sure to take 3-4 salt tablets every hour and also made sure that I had two empty water/Gatorade bottles at every feed stop to be sure I was drinking enough.

There was one point where the course made a left turn to head back into town where I was just blasted by a much needed tailwind. There were also a lot of spectators. Families hanging out in front of their houses, kids hanging out hoping one of the athletes would toss them an empty Ironman water bottle (which I did every chance I got)

Once I started to get closer to town, the people were out in the thousands. Sitting in the center divider with signs, cowbells and noisemakers. I felt like I was in the Tour de France. What an amazing boost!

The last lap of the bike leg was pretty rough, the wind had kicked up and my speed had dropped quite a bit. I was never discouraged, but I was damn ready to get off my bike by about mile 100 or so.

That last left turn to head back into town seemed like it would never come. But it finally did, and the tailwind was still there, as were all the people cheering, which gave me back all my energy.

I barely remember handing off my bike to one of the volunteers I was so out of it, but I guess I was with it enough to remember to get my feet out of my shoes and hand it off without crashing.  Two down, one to go.

Bike time: 06:09.41

Transition 2 –

I kinda remember running into the tent and yelling out my number. Within seconds I had my bag in my hand and was heading to a chair.

As I sat down, a volunteer handed me an ice cold bottle of water, which really hit the spot. As I was putting on my socks and shoes, another volunteer rubbed sunblock on my shoulders. I can’t say enough about how amazing all the volunteers were.

I slapped on my hat, stopped one more time at the Vaseline jar to “lube the chassis” and headed off to run a fucking marathon.

Did I mention I’ve never run a marathon before?

T2: 4:51

The Run –

As soon as I left the transition tent, I felt the blast of how effing hot it actually was that day. I guess the wind on the bike made it less noticeable.

As soon as I started running I noticed my feet were cramping from being on the bike for so damn long and tried to run through it as long as I could, but after 2-3 miles (I honestly don’t know how far it was) I had to walk. Between the heat and my feet, I knew it was the best thing to do. I also knew it was going to be a VERY long afternoon on my feet.

It was a three loop course with aid stations every kilometer that had water, Gatorade, Coke, Powergels, Powebars, peanuts and pretzels. I really didn’t feel like eating too much (hard to believe, I know) so I took Gatorade and water at every station.

At one point, I heard someone yell “GO KEITH!” and thought “WTF? I don’t’ know anyone here.”, then remembered that my name was on my race number. Duh!

So I basically decided to fast walk and try to run when I felt like I could. This seemed to be the best way to go if I wanted to survive.

Around mile 6 I noticed I had a pretty bad blister on one of my toes, so I stopped at one of the ambulances and got it taped up nice and good as new.

Did I mention it was 81 degrees with about 90% humidity?

The run back into town was pretty cool. The closer I got to town, the thicker the crowds got. The last mile or so to the finish line was literally packed with people screaming and yelling. It was absolutely amazing!

Unfortunately, instead of going straight, to the finish line, I had to turn around and head out for my second lap.

As soon as the sun started setting and the temperature dropped and I felt a million times better. It was still hard to run consistently, but I was able to do it more and more often, which was pretty encouraging.

Before I knew it, I was running that last mile into town again through the screaming crowd and again, I had to turn around so I could start my last lap.

Then it hit me “Holy shit! I’m on my last lap! “

It was still slow going and I was still fast walking/running, but I was moving, and that was all I needed to do.

I knew that in a little while, I was going to be finishing. I was going to be an Ironman. As painful as every step was, you couldn’t have pried the smile off my face.

The last mile or so into town was just about the most magical thing I’ve ever experienced.

I could see off in the distance the giant TV they had put up. The crowd was frantic. I swear, they made me feel like I was the race leader. There was no more walking from here. I ran like I had a fresh pair of legs. There was no pain and no watching my heart rate. I felt like I was running a 6 minute mile, giving people high fives, all the while, trying my best to hold back the tears of joy.

The minute I rounded that last corner to the finish line, I heard the announcer say my name. I heard it and I screamed along with him

“KEITH BRUNI! YOU ARE AN IRONMAN!!

The most wonderful words I’ve ever heard.

Race time: 14:14.33

I can’t believe it’s not butter!

The other day, one of my coworkers (the crazy eco/green/save the world lady, which I’m sure every office has) sent me a link to an article about how minute traces…wait, is that right? Minute? Minoot…mynewt…minute…um…small traces of some chemical were found in a bunch of sticks of butter.

As if butter isn’t bad enough for you, now it’s even worse because of this wacky chemical.

Apparently, this chemical has been known to cause some kind of defects in some people in certain doses. What these doses are, I don’t know. What the effects are, I don't know, but my guess is that more than a small amount in a stick of butter is needed for one to grow a tail or get ED from it.

But anyway, my reply to this email said one thing:

“Every day I walk out my front door, I’m trusting that the rest of the world isn’t going to kill me. The last thing I’m going to worry about is butter.”

Shit, a speeding car may miss the corner by my house and drive right into my room, killing me before I even get a chance to leave the house.

Maybe that crazy neighbor of mine from Fiji with the face tattoos that walks around the neighborhood with an ax will someday decide to use it on me, rather than whatever the hell he does with it.

My point (if I even have one)  I guess, is not to sweat the small stuff?

Now don’t get me wrong, I know there are a lot of dangerous things in this world that can kill us. Mono sodium Glutamate, pesticides, erections that last for more than four hours and so on, but at some point, you have to live your life.

Don’t like cigarettes? Don’t smoke em. Worried about getting Alzheimer’s from eating too much broccoli? Don’t eat it. Don't like beer, drink gin. Afraid you’re going to get run over on your bicycle? Don’t ride it.

Me? I’m just going to live my life. If that includes smoking a cigarette in bed with a space heater next to a propane tank while popping Viagra and eating bacon fried in tainted butter, so be it.

Maybe I'll grow a tail from eating too much tainted butter. Hell maybe if enough people grow tainted butter tails, someone will start making fashionable sleeves for them and there will be a new trend.

Peace!

For the record, Marie, the eco-nutcase that sent me the butter article is absolutely wonderful (and quite militant). She does a lot of good and has principles I think we could all learn from. 

 

Training For an Ironman

I guess I knew what I was getting into when I registered for Ironman Cozumel last November.

I knew there would be long days, and there have been many. I knew there would be hard days. Days that I would barely be able to walk when my feet hit the floor in the morning.  I knew there would be mornings when I would just want to hit that 5am snooze button and sleep until noon.
 As I sit here, two weeks away from leaving to go to Cozumel, I realize I have survived the long days, pushed through the hard days and the pain and woken up every morning to not dread the day, but seize it.
I've learned to look at every day as another opportunity to get just a little bit faster on the bike, run just a little bit further (or is it farther? Does anyone really even know?) or work on my swim stroke so I can be just that little bit more efficient.

 I knew I would neglect my friends, my social life, my chores and pretty much everything else. I knew all this and made the decision to do it anyway. Tex doesn't get walked as often and for that I feel unbearable guilt.  I have the most patient and understanding girlfriend any man could ever ask for. She's been nothing but positive and supportive these past few months, and for that I am eternally grateful (it's almost December, baby!)

It's funny how solitary trialthon is. Just you and your bike, or running shoes or a lake or pool for hours on end. Sure, sometimes I train with other people, but for the most part, I'm alone, doing what I set out to do. Funny thing is that I really couldn't even tell you what the heck I think about when training. I think I mostly just picture myself in Cozumel, on the course, and that's what keeps me going. I think about what it will be like to cross that finish line and honestly, just the thought of it almost chokes me up.

I've spent months striving towards a goal that is almost here.

Shit...it's almost here....

Am I ready for this race? Hell, I don't know. I think I'm as ready as I'm going to get. Am I afraid of this race? Damn straight I am. Am I afraid I won't be able to finish this race? Not for a second.

I think the thing I'm most afraid of is that I'm not going to know what to do with all my free time when it's over.

I am Not an Asian Tourist

Back in the day, I was almost a rock star.

Okay, I was never even close to being a rock star. But I liked the idea of being one, so I got a bass guitar when I was 15.
It was a super cheap POS from Montgomery Ward that my Mom -even though we were broke- bought for me. God how I loved that guitar (and my Mom for buying it for me.)
Not only was it super cool with all the chicks that I was a bass player, but it gave me something to do (although it didn't keep me out of trouble by any stretch of the imagination.)
I would play that thing for hours on end. Before school, after school and any chance I could get. I can't even count the number of times I woke up in the middle of the night with it laying next to me in bed and just started playing until I fell asleep again.
I am blessed enough to have a good ear and never needed to take lessons. I could just listen to songs and know how to play em, which is more than a lot of people can say.

So anyway, I got damn good at the bass, started playing in bands and did the whole band thing for years until I got tired of it.

Unlike when Mom used to say "Don't sit so close to the TV, you'll ruin your eyes", her telling me to "turn that damn music down before you go deaf" was actually pretty spot on, as I really did ruin my ears.

So if sometime you're talking to me, and I'm just kind of standing there with a glazed look in my eyes, nodding my head, smiling and saying "yeah." like an Asian tourist, it's not because I agree with you or think what you said is funny. It's because I was in a rock band in the 80's and can't hear a damn word you're saying.

  I sold my bass a few years ago and hadn't played it for probably a year or two before that. I still strum my old acoustic guitar every once in a while, and maybe -if you're lucky- I'll sing you a song sometime, but for the most part, outside of a million great memories and a bad case of tinnitus, that rock star dream is far behind me, and I'm okay with that.


I'm sorry, what was that?

Oh the Beautiful Splendor of Vienna

I don't know if you've ever been to Vienna, but I haven't. I hear it's nice there. It's known for its mild summers, beautiful architecture and even more beautiful women.
I think it may have been stormed or something once, but I'm not really sure about that.

Why this silly talk about Vienna you ask? Well hang on a second and I'll tell you!

Yesterday, as I sat in my wonderfully decorated "zen like" cube at work, I decided I needed a snack, so I borrowed a dollar from my totally awesome cube neighbor Sheryl -not to be mistaken for Cube Girl- and strolled to the breakroom to hit up the vending machine. Whilst staring at all the delicious treats from which to choose: Doritos, Fritos, salty nuts, Twix bars etc., I thought "these will not do the trick, I need something really delicious. Something exotic that reminds me of my childhood." So I strolled to the other vending machine and decided to take the leap and get the Vienna Sausages.
We recently switched vendors, and for some reason, the new vendors thought it a good idea to put vienna sausages in one of the machines, and for the past month or so, there have been 5 cans of them that nobody has been brave (or stupid) enough to buy.

Well until yesterday that is.

First off, I have to say that I seem to remember really liking them when I was a kid. Hanging out with friends with the vienna sausages flowing like wine. Building forts out of armchairs, couch pillows and blankets and eating Vienna sausages. Sitting on the roof of the house on the Fourth of July to watch fireworks and eating Vienna sausages...wait, I think I dreamed that one.

Anyway, so I buy the damn sausages, grab a plate, fork and knife and go back to my cube to relish in this childhood treat that most likely will even be better now that I'm older and have a wiser pallette.

Yeah, not the case.

Apparently I was born without taste buds and they didn't come in until middle school. Maybe my mom's bad cooking had something to do with my ability to stomach these things. I don't know, but I do know that I took one bite of this atrocity and almost screamed. Not with delight, but horror. I was expecting a hot doggy/spam-ish taste and was hit more with  rat-poison overtones with an ass flavored finish  I can't imagine how something so horrible and vile can still be manufactured in this country (wait, they're from Vienna, nevermind)

I honestly don't know if what I wrote above about Vienna being known for its mild summers and beautiful women is true or not. I really don't know much about it. What I do know is that I will forever associate these demon dogs with it, and for that reason, will never be a tourist there.

Needless to say, I didn't eat them all. I barely ate half of one. I tried to see if anyone in the office wanted them, but all I got were strange looks, so I just left them on some guy's desk.

Next time I'm sticking with the tried and true, made in America, Red Vines.

Blah blah blah...

As I sit here thinking about what I should blog about, I can honestly say, I have no good ideas or brilliant thoughts, which is weird, because I'm usually chock full of em (well, full of something)

I've been in a bit of a funk as of late. As I try to figure out why, I'm hard pressed to fund an answer.
My job is great.
I'm good looking (albeit a bit chubby)
I have an amazing group of friends.
I'm dating a fantastic gal that seems to get me.(sorry ladies)
I have roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in.

So what the hell do I have to be in a funk about?

In an attempt to get to the bottom of this situation, I will make a list..

1) My dog died.

Well I guess that's about it.

*sigh*

Deep Thoughts....kinda.

I was thinking the other day. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking about, but I'm sure it was something I thought was interesting.

Or maybe not.

I've never been accused of being a "big thinker." I just kinda am who I am and think about what, I suppose, I'm supposed to think about (like if it's okay to use suppose and supposed twice in a row like that)
I don't think about big things like the meaning of life, what happens when we die or how those foamy soap dispensers work. I mean, its regular damn soap in the bottle and then it comes out foamy!
Whatever, I guess that's the kind of crap I figure I'll find out when I die. Or not...who knows?

On occasion I've been called shallow, but I prefer to think of myself as simple. It doesn't take much to entertain me. Give me some aluminum foil and a band-aid (or a blog) and I can have fun for literally minutes on end.

Obviously there is a place for big thinkers in the world. I mean, somebody had to think of a way to get a guy on the moon, right? Who would have invented the Slinky, the garden hose or 12 sided dice? In a world full of thinkers like me, we'd be playing Dungeons and Dragons with rocks and peeing on our lawns wondering why they weren't growing.

Sometimes I think about what I'm going to write in my blog, but then usually determine that it's pretty stupid. Which is kind of sad if you look at the crap I actually have written here.

I think about things like who the hell decided that the number 2 would be spelled T W O. This makes no sense to me and I even had a minor panic attack at the grocery store once when I was writing a check for $200, because"T W O Hundred" didn't look right. T O O? No. T O? That's not right. T W O? That just can't be right!!!
"Twhoa" is how it should be pronounced. Someone should change the spelling to "Tew." Who do I write a letter to regarding the changing of the spelling of a number?

Sometimes people who are not great thinkers are mistaken for dumb, which I think is silly, as many great thinkers could also be called dumb. I guess it all depends on what you consider smarts. I heard that Albert Einstein once left the house without his pants. Now that's pretty stupid.
Me? I may not be the smartest guy, but at least I've never forgotten my pants (well, not by accident.)

Deep thoughts? Meh, who needs em? Brilliant ideas? Go right on ahead and give it all you got. I'm just going to sit here with my dog, have some dinner, blog a bit and maybe shave my legs later.
I won't sit here and ponder, or wonder about the difference between the words ponder and wonder. I won't ask why, and that's okay.

Peace!

The things we are told.

I just cracked my knuckles for about the four millionth time and it hit me: "I don't have arthritis."
For as far back as I can remember, I was always told "Don't to that, you're going to get arthritis."

My face has also never frozen in an awkward way after making a funny face and my eyes are not permanently crossed.

As I sit here typing with both hands, I realize that I never lost an arm to one of those people that drove by real close and ripped off kid's arms when they hung them out the car window.

I didn't realize until I was about 14 that thunder wasn't clouds bumping into each other.

It wasn't until I was in my mid 20's that I really thought about where the vitamins in a piece of bread are and that they're not actually in the crust.

It's funny to think about the little fibs our parents told us. Whether they were for our own safety, to get us to do what they wanted us to do, or just to shut us up because they didn't really know the answer to one of our questions.

I'm sure there are many more fibs that both my parents told my siblings and me when we were young, but I'm at a loss to think of any as I quickly write this during my lunch hour.

If you have any of these little family fibs you would like to share, please do so. I'd love to hear how much more messed up and misinformed you are then I am. =)

Dollar Tree Delicasies.

So you can probably assume by my previous food posts, I like to eat. I'll eat damn near anything and will certainly TRY anything once.

On my weekly trips to the Dollar Tree Store, I enjoy finding neat little things. You know, things like candles, socks and the occasional box of Arabian Froot Loopies cereal.
For some reason though, I am especially drawn towards the freezer section, so I buy these atrocities, always hoping they'll be delicious.

I mean really, how bad could they be, right?

Dish #1 Mexican Style Beef Enchilada & Tamale Combo

 I don't know about you, but I LOVE Mexican food. I could probably eat it every day and let me tell you, there is no shortage of taquerias in my neighborhood. But who needs a taqueria when you can get delicious foodstuffs like this for the everyday low price of $1?
This looks SO good! I can't WAIT!

 Okay, so it doesn't look quite like the picture, but hey, rarely does a McDonald's cheeseburger, and they're always delicious.

 I've decided that I really could have waited. I can't tell which is the enchilada and which is the tamale either by sight or taste. I wonder how much they pay the employees at the Banquet factory to vomit in tortillas and also, what exactly are they vomiting in them. Probably leftover Salisbury steak is my guess.
Sad to say, but the baby poop refried bean are the high point of this meal and that's not saying much.

Dish #2 Macaroni and Cheese Meal (with rich cheddar cheese sauce)

 Oh how I do love my macaroni and cheese. I actually have an amazing recipe for homemade baked mac & cheese I got from my skank of an ex girlfriend. It's pretty easy to make (and so is she), so I don't see how Banquet could have screwed this one up.

 Okay, so now I see how they could have screwed this up. I don't really even know what to say about this one other than it's apparently a good source of calcium. It's also a good source of explosive diarrhea.
I didn't even want to eat it, but I made myself play "Open the tunnel, here comes the choo choo train" and choked down a couple bites. I guess I could have doctored it up with some rat poison and wood chips or something.

Dish #3  Zesty Smothered Meat Patty Meal

 I just bought this one for the novelty. I can't imagine anyone in their right mind would actually see this and think "Mmmm....that sounds good." I know I didn't.
The presentation on the box is kinda nice though....

The freshly nuked product is not quite so yummy looking. The smell alone was enough to send Tex running for cover. As awful as everything I've tried so far has been, this is definitely the topper, man. I literally had to spit it out.
You have to wonder: Who the hell actually thought that a zesty smothered meat pattie was a good idea in the first place. I dunno, maybe the guy who owns Banquet had a Grandmother that made a really great zesty smothered meat patty or something. If so, somewhere between Grandma's kitchen and the freezer aisle, the recipe was lost. Grandma is turning in her grave.
All I can say is that if I am ever starving on a deserted island with you, a microwave and this meal, you better start runnin'.

I think next time I have the bright idea to do this, I'll just grab a hammer and hit myself with it a few times instead. I don't know what's worse, that I actually ate these damn things or that I'm sitting at home on a Friday night blogging about it.

I'm gonna go lay on the floor and regret this now.

Tums please.

You Bastard!

Dear DVR,

I thought the world of you. I thought you were here for me.
I thought I could come home to you and you would make me happy.

Why on earth would you decide to stop recording the Tour de France ONE MILE from the finish of the most exciting stage yet?

I thought you cared.

It's obvious you don't.

I can barely see through this web of lies anymore.

I'll give you another chance, but I don't know if I can trust you anymore. 

*sigh*

"We need to talk."

There are few things as frightening as hearing these words. Whether they're coming from your boss, your mother, your priest, the doctor at the free clinic,  or worse, someone you're dating.

You may as well be saying "'You're about to be seriously fucked in a minute."

I know I've been on the giving end of these "talks" a few times and have certainly been on the receiving end more than I care to admit, so I know what I'm talking about here.

I was just given the "We need to talk, I'll be over in half an hour" from a lady friend and I can't help but wonder how I could have possibly screwed anything up already.

Maybe she wants to talk about how awesome I am. Yeah, that's probably it now that I think about it.

I don't even know why I'm getting all worked up.

What could possibly go wrong?

So I was thinking.....

Earlier today I was thinking about how awesome I am.

I know, you're probably thinking "This guy needs to get over himself already", but hear me out.

I don't know if it's normal to be as pleased with one's self as much as I am, and if it's not normal, it certainly should be.

I'm very fortunate to be who I am. I'm pretty good looking, witty (oh so witty) I'm quite smooth (in more ways than one), I'm humble and I rarely get B.O. How many of you can say that?

Don't get me wrong, there are probably like, two or three things wrong with me...probably less actually. Okay, I can't really think of anything off the top of my head right now, but I'm sure there's something wrong with me (please note that any comments actually pointing out flaws, either physical or emotional, will be promptly removed)

I get the occasional athlete's foot flare up, so there's that I guess. I suppose my love of coffee and cigarettes first thing in the morning would be considered a flaw by some. I've been told that I sometimes snore, but I'm pretty sure that's just a lie by bitter women to make me feel bad.

Anyway, back to my awesomeness.

So I'm looking in the mirror and I thought "Man, you are one awesome motherf**ker. Why can't everyone be as awesome as I am?" the world would surely be a better place, no?

Then I got to thinking "How can I get my awesomeness to rub off on other people?" I thought that maybe humping legs would do the trick, but my neighbor quickly made it clear that this was NOT the direction I should be heading (he can be such an asshole sometimes)

So I figured I'd just blog about it.


What actually defines awesome? The amount of money I make? The number of people I know? How many pairs of shoes I have? My car? My wardrobe? My delicious calf muscles? I realize that all these things are great (especially the calves), but none define true awesomeness as far as I'm concerned.


True awesomeness = true happiness. True happiness = loving yourself. And believe me, I do love myself.

Is this whole thing here some kind of affirmation to myself? Probably, but I'm no shrink. I'm just typing on a Saturday. But I do believe, even though my life is far from perfect, that I am indeed truly happy.

I figure I'll keep trying to be the best person I can be. I will be positive. I will be polite, I will hold doors for people and I will tell them how nice nice they look. I will point out how nice their new shoes are. I will be there when my friends or family need me. I will try to be someone I would like to know.
I will listen.I will advise and allow myself to be advised. All the while, hoping my awesomeness rubs off on people and maybe, if I'm lucky, some of theirs will rub off on me.

After all, as hard as it may be to believe, there is a good chance that there is someone out there even more awesome than I am. =)

I'm going to go take an awesome nap now.

Who Wants to Watch Bike Races?

I am a cyclist.

I'm not really a competitive cyclist, unless you consider racing homeless people on the bike trail competitive. But a cyclist I am, through and through.
I love everything bicycle. The long rides, the short rides, the good rides and the bad rides. Even the ones I think about doing but don't actually do, which are usually the easiest.
I love working on bikes, tuning and polishing them, dialing in the gears so they shift flawlessly. Truing the wheels so they're straighter than a nun on Sunday.
Hell, sometimes I just sit and gaze lovingly at my beatiful two wheeled sex machines...wait..what?

Yeah...

I also love bicycle racing. In particular the Tour de France.

                                          ^^^See how I placed that cool logo there?^^^

To the layman, it's just a bunch of guys on their bikes wearing sissy clothes, riding in a big group going real fast while plastered with sponsors names you don't recognize unless you're European or a Radio Shack nerd. Actually, now that I think about it, how the hell does Radio Shack afford to sponsor a world class cycling team? I can't remember the last time I went to a Radio Shack and spent anything more than $3 on a stereo cable.

Anyway...

Why the lack of love for cycling? I mean hell, it's right up there with soccer as far as most people are concerned. Bikes and soccer, two things loved by 7 year old kids.
Mostly, I think, is because people don't understand the sport. The strategy and team tactics, the, pain, sweat and dedication it takes to pedal over 2,000 miles in three weeks with the most elite riders in the world.
I remember years ago watching the tour. Every morning I would watch the live coverage before I left for work. After seeing my excitement every morning, my (then) wife -who is about the furthest thing from a cyclist you'll ever see-  started watching with me. In no time at all, after having a better understanding of how professional cycling works, we were both sitting in front of the tv every morning, often screaming and cheering Lance on to another victory.
It was so amazing to see a non cyclist learn the love of the sport.

After not having cable for about four years, I signed a friggin' two year contract with Direct TV so I can watch this year.

This is how much I love this race.

So for three weeks, I will DVR the tour and watch it when I get home. For three weeks, I will avoid the internet spoilers. No sports pages, no facebook, discussion forums etc, just so I can come home every night, listen to Paul and Phil commentate like only they can, and watch this wonderful race in all it's splendor and glory. I may even wear my spandex.

If you're not a cyclist, thanks for reading this. If you are a cyclist, you're probably really sexy.

For you non-cyclist, I say you try watching a stage or two. You might find you like it.

Bonjour!

Contrary to popular belief, I AM NOT GAY!

*ahem*

Over the years, on occasion, I have been thought to be gay. I am not gay.  I like women. I like em a lot! Any woman that has been in the same room with me and alcohol can attest to this. But for some reason, I have still been mistaken for one of the gays.

I guess I should start by saying that I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay. I think it's great! Have at it I say! It's just not my bag. Someone else in my family got the gay genes (Jordache, if I'm not mistaken) hell, he probably has a healthier relationship than I've ever had (and it's lasted longer too.) I, however, am a 100% heterosexual, woman lovin' man, man.

My last girlfriend called me her "big gay boyfriend, the girl in the cube next to me refers to me as her "gay coworker" to her friends.

Seriously now...

Okay, so I probably have a bit more of a feminine side than a lot of guys. I'm emotional, I like Air Supply, Kelly Clarkson and Adam Lambert, I cry when I watch Extreme Home Makeover (let's face it, who doesn't?) and I sometimes mimic a thoooper gay lisp, but that doesn't make me gay, it makes me fun!

Right?

Anyway..so I got to thinking about why the hell people may think I'm gay and will now explain it all away. (Don't even try to play the denial card either, or I'll get really pissy!)

Gay facto #1 -  There is no hair on my body.

De Facto - I shave my head because I started going bald at the age of 25 and it's better to be "bald" than "balding." I shave my arms because I don't want hair covering up my tattoos. I shave my chest because *most* women don't like hairy chests and my legs because I'm a cyclist and my legs are fabulous! Also, leg massages feel much better when there is no hair involved (I am now taking applications for a part time leg masseuse by the way)
AND ANOTHER THING! There are few things more amazing than sliding into a freshly made bed with freshly shaven legs (srsly, try it some time)

Gay facto #2 -  I pluck my eyebrows.

De Facto - I pluck them to remove those crazy ass long ones that pop up out of nowhere. I don't actually SHAPE them! Have you ever seen that crazy guy in that infomercial for the juicer? I do NOT want to be that guy.

Gat facto #3 - I wear Women's Speed Stick..

De facto - Fine, it's a ladies product, but you know what? It smells good and it keeps me dry. Remember that famous line "Strong enough for a man but made for a woman?" Hello!
And really, who the hell wants to smell like English Leather, Brut or Old Spice? I can't believe they even make that crap anymore. Don't even get me started on that rank ass Axe body spray. I'd rather be hit with an ax than wear that putrid bug spray.

Gat facto #4 - I wear girly lotions.

De facto - I wear women's lotions because they SMELL GOOD! Again, why on earth would you want to smell like a piece of English leather or an old spice when you can smell like coconut lime verbena or blueberry muffins? There's something to be said for the quality of ladies' skin care products. I have softer skin at 40 than most 20 year old's. There's not even an argument for this one as far as I'm concerned.

Gay facto #5 - I ride a pink road bike

De facto - Um...okay, so I can't really explain that one.

Gay facto #6 I ride a pink mountain bike.

De facto - Shit...

Gay facto #7 I like to decorate my home and am pretty good at it.

De facto - Hey, who doesn't want to have a cute house? I like coming up with ideas that I think are going to look neat and it gives my house a personal look. So what if I made a special trip to IKEA just to find curtains to match my couches?

Um....

This isn't quite turning out the way I planned...





I'm not gay.

"I am not a dog person!"

"I am not a dog person!"

That's what I kept saying to my then fiancee Amy. She pestered me for months to get a dog and I can honestly say, I didn't want one. It would be too much work, to expensive, we'd have to worry about dog sitters when we traveled, yadda yadda. I could rattle off another hundred reasons why I didn't want a dog.
But alas, I finally gave in to her nagging (like any smart man knows he must do) and agreed that once we got married we could get a dog.

So after we were married, Amy tells me she saw an ad on CraigsList from a lady that was looking to re-home her nine year old Corgi (which I'd never heard of before) . She was a doctor and had come to a point in her career that she just couldn't give him the attention he deserved.

We set up an time for her to bring over this "Corgi" so they could meet us and see if we could provide a good home for him.
The minute I saw Dewey jump out of the back of their car and run up to our front door, I knew we had found a new family member and I believe HE knew he had found a new home.

I can honestly say I don't even remember any kind of a transition period after we got him. He just fit right in. He slept right next to the bed, followed me around like we had been best friends for years.
He knew as well as we did that this home is where he belonged.

If you never got a chance to meet Dewey, he rarely stopped smiling. That fat bastard's energy level was through the roof and, up until three months ago, people rarely believed he was so old. It's hard to explain. He was so puppy like, but when you really looked at him, he seemed like an old soul. Like there was a lot more behind those brown eyes than just a dumb dog.

He was a dork. He was clumsy. He was stubborn as all get out. He was adorable. He was noble.

He was my best friend and he saw me through a lot of hard times. I can't imagine how I could have dealt with the past two years without him by my side, always eager to go for a walk or let me pull him around in the baby trailer with my bike or just lay next to me and look at me with that kind of love only a dog can give.

Yesterday I called in sick to work (something I don't typically do). I was feeling a little under the weather and figured I needed some rest or something. I could have gone in and slogged through the day, but I didn't. I stayed home and did nothing. I hung out with Dewey and Tex and we had a great day, full of doing nothing but enjoying each others company, playing in the backyard and napping.

Funny how things work out. 

He had a seizure this morning at 5am.

I rushed him to the emergency vet and after looking him over, the vet said the could run tests etc that would be at least $1500 to start. And then, who knows if that would even help.
So I did the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I checked the box on the form refusing treatment and agreeing to euthanasia.

I stroked his face and rubbed his ears just how he liked as the doctor put him to sleep and I cried like I've never cried before.The doctor was so wonderful and knew to say all the right things. As I sat next to the grave I dug for him, I took off the lid to the box the vet had put him in, not knowing what to expect, but knowing that I had to see him one more time. They had wrapped him in a cute blanket and he looked like he was sleeping.
I put his favorite squeaky next to him and I sat there and petted his face sobbing uncontrollably. Tex was sitting next to me and let out a little whimper.

My house is quieter today and there is only the pitter patter of one set of paws on the hardwood, rather than two.Tex will take care of me, and for that I'm thankful.

I guess I am a dog person after all.

Goodbye buddy.

As I try to write this, I can barely see the screen through my unstoppable tears.

I don't even know what to say. You changed my life in so many ways and taught me the true meaning of unconditional love, and for that I will always be thankful. I wish I could write more, but I just can't. At least not now.

I love you so much and I'll miss you more than I can ever say.

RIP Dewey     3/30/1997 - 6/29/2010

Motivation....

So I've decided rather than get up, have coffee, give myself a chance to wake up and then get ready to run, I'll set my shoes and shorts and heart rate monitor next to the bed and before my feet even hit the floor, I'll put them on.
It's so easy to just say "screw it" and blow off a run. To say "I'll do it tomorrow." Anyone who's ever been on any kind of a training schedule knows this, I mean hell, it's 5:00 in the morning for Christ's sake! I should be sleeping. But having to actually take off my running shoes and blow off my run is more than just procrastination, it's a slap in face to the commitment I've made.
So I'll put on my shoes, head out the door and struggle through that first mile, which is always a bitch, no matter how fit I am, and I'll do my run, knowing that in a few minutes I'll be glad I did.

Only Thing Better Than Pizza? Grilled Pizza!

While trying to think of something to make for our weekly dinner date, I remembered one of my Facebook friends posting a picture of a grilled pizza he made and since I love pizza and I love grilling, I thought "This is something that must happen in my house."
So I did a little research on the intarwebs and learned that not only is it easy to do, but is supposedly quite delicious.
Natalie made the dough earlier in the day, so we started by making the crusts. I don't have a rolling pin, so we shaped them by hand (ok, Natalie did)

Nat is quite the pizza tosser. If pizza dough tossing was a Special Olympics sport, she would get the "Participant" ribbon.

Next step is to toss the dough on the grill for a couple minutes on each side to stiffen it up a bit. As you can see by the lack of roundness, Nat's dough tossing skills need a little bit of work. But hey, round pizzas are for pussies.

Here are some of the ingredients we decided to go with. Since Nat is a vegetarian, we chose fresh vegetables.. Red/yellow/orange mini peppers, spinach, mushrooms, onions, asparagus and Fuji apple slices. I also made come carmelized onions for the pizza I wanted to make with the apples.

Next step: Slap your sauce (I made a creamy garlic sauce and a simple tomato sauce) your cheese and toppings on your dough, toss it on the grill and wait about 15 minutes.

And here's the finished product. I swear, this was some of the best pizza I've ever had. The spinach, mushroom and asparagus was definitely the winning combination The crust was nice and crispy on the bottom yet still a bit chewy and unlike any "fast food" pizza I've ever had, each and every single bite was screaming with flavor.
Round Table can suck it!

Next time you're thinking about ordering out, think again. Invite some friends over and take the time to make your own and GRILL EM! You won't be disappointed!

Oh Glory be! It's Dinner Time!

Any of you that know me, or have seen my midsection that is sometimes mistaken for one of those yoga balls you do crunches on (insert double entendre here), know that I like to eat. No, I LOVE to eat.
I also love to cook! Especially lately. I've been going bananas in the kitchen.
I rarely follow any kind of recipe unless it's something like crepe batter or some crazy dish I've never made before. For the most part, I wing it. Yes my dishes for the time being are simple and as I grow in the kitchen, so will my list of sexy, exotic ingredients.
It's weird how I turned out to be a pretty good cook, considering my Dad was no Emeril and couldn't cook his way out of a paper sack (does that even make sense?) and my Mom (Sorry Mom, I love you) was no Martha Stewart. Don't get me wrong, she had some killer dishes. Chicken cacciatore, Chicken Kiev, a pretty mean spaghetti sauce and I'm sure  few more that I can't remember, which I'm sure she will remind me of quite angrily in about 30 minutes.
Unfortunately, she had a failure or two as well. Like the one called "Chow Mein" that, as I found out later in life, was not actually chow mein at all but some bazaare...bazzar...baczar...how the f**k do you spell that damn word? concoction of vegetables and bean sprouts that could only be called "crap mein."
Hey Mom, remember that big pan of corn bread with hot dogs in it you made that one time? Or your boyfriend's lasagna that had HARD BOILED EGGS IN IT? No? Well I do. (did I mention how much I love you?)

Anyway...

Cooking is fun. It's cheaper than eating out (duh) and for the most part, is healthier. (please keep in mind that when I say something is "healthy" I'm comparing it to a giant taqueria burrito or a large pizza, so it's all relative.) It's a great way to get together with friends and experiment with new stuff and it's super cool when you actually pull off a winner.

So I'll be regularly posting pics of some of the delectable delights that are flowing out of my kitchen faster than my Mom could ruin a casserole.

Tonight was crepe night. This bad unit had asparagus, mushrooms, garlic, onion and a bit of pesto. Sounds delish, huh? Well is WAS! The pic doesn't really do it justice, but hey, I"m a cook damn it! Not a photographer!

And you can't make a dinner crepe without making a dessert crepe. yes? This wonderful delight had fresh strawberries, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, almonds and some sauce I made out of heavy whipping cream, vanilla and powdered sugar.
Needless to say, it's not around anymore.






I think I may just hop on the treadmill for a little while...if I can waddle over to it.

Bonjour!

Happy Father's day.

It's funny to think back to when I was a kid. My old man was quite a character.
He could be one of the meanest sonsabitches or the nicest guy you'd ever meet. I usually only noticed the mean part when I was younger, which is probably because I was a big pain in the ass.
I got in fights at school, goofed off, didn't study as much as I could have and rarely listened. I seem to recall being grounded about 40 weeks a year.

For some reason, I don't recall a lot of my youth, but there are a few things I remember...

I remember when I was about 6, laying on the couch, he on his back and me on top of him, both staring up as he blew smoke rings towards the ceiling. Funny to think about how outrageous that would be considered now, but back then it was rare we got to hang out, just the two of us. He must have smoked a whole pack of cigarettes.
I remember being yelled at constantly to keep my elbows off the table and to chew with my mouth closed.
I remember bragging about something once and being told "No matter how good you are, there will always be someone better."
I remember how he loved his Mother.
I remember his patience while I sat on his lap and he taught me how to tell time.
I remember how he would yell at the top of his lungs at the drop of a hat.
I remember how he taught me that there is good in everyone.
I remember praying with him.
I remember sitting around with him and his poker buddies while they told dirty jokes, like I was one of the guys.
I remember how he did the best he could.
I remember his love of Asteroids.
I remember his selfishness and his selflessnes.
I remember him trying to duplicate my Grandma's chicken soup recipe for years and failing miserably.
I remember sitting in McDonalds enjoying strawberry milkshakes and McChicken sandwiches.
I remember that I am who I am greatly because of him.
I remember not being as good of a son as I could have been.

I remember the day he was laid to rest.

I remember a lot, now that I think about it.

I miss you, Dad.

David John Bruni
Oct. 8 1940 - Jan. 30 1997

Sweet Saturday Scores.

So I once again headed out for my weekly treasure hunt, and sure enough I found a lot of cool stuff that I was looking for (and some that I wasn't.)

My main goal was to find a lamp for my desk. Go figure, the first sale I stopped at I found a lamp for my desk. It set me back a cool $3. I like the round/square thing going on and the colors kinda go with everything.
I also bought the little cubby thing next to it a few weeks ago for $2. It's cool for storing all my camera/ipod cables etc.
Oh yeah, got the picture on the wall (and a matching one that's on a different wall) for $16. =)
Did I mention I got my faithful laptop two years ago at a garage sale for $80? I was pretty apprehensive about dropping that much dough, especially on a computer, but it's been a killer machine and I couldn't be happier with it.

Let's see, what else did I get...?

I saw this little mirror and thought "I really don't need that, but it's kinda cool, I'm sure I can find somewhere to put it" so I bought it for $5 and laid it flat on the dining room table. I think I like it. Also picked up the wooden vase for $3 a while back.

Last week I picked up this great chair. The one I had had been shredded by Amy's cats and I was sick of looking at it. $25. Hello!

I also picked up the plant and pot (actually two of them) for $5 each. Oh  yeah, and the rug too. Also $5. =)

I'm not much for religion, but I saw this cross and had to get it. I had a spot on one wall that was begging for something and this worked out perfectly. You can see it in the reflection of the mirror on the wall by my dining room table.







A couple months ago my BBQ finally decided to call it quits and I have been grill-less ever since.
Until today that is. Found this great Weber grill (with a full propane tank) The guy wanted $50 for it but took $35.
Guess who's cooking tri-tip tonight?

 And last but certainly not least, this little Sony radio. Back story: Two years ago I bought a radio at a garage sale for $3. It fit perfectly on the little shelf in my bathroom and sounded great, but alas, it stopped working about one and a half years ago. I was literally fiddling with it two weeks ago to see if I could get it to work again, but couldn't.
Imagine my surprise when I walked up some guy's driveway this morning and saw THE SAME EXACT RADIO in perfect working condition!!! I swear to God I almost screamed like a girl when I saw it, but I played it cool and was all "Hey, how much for the old radio?"
The guy wanted $5 for it. I asked if he would take $4 for it and he said yes. So I handed him a $5 bill and asked if he had change. lol

Definitely a good day!

Saturdays are not for sleeping in, they're for garage sales.

I am the cheapest person I know.

Don't get me wrong, I love spending money. Who doesn't? I just don't like spending a lot of money. My ex wife used to bitch about how cheap I am because I was always looking for the best deal or complaining about how expensive stuff is.
I make "decent" money but am by no means rolling in the dough. I'm fortunate enough to have very few bills and no debt, so I do okay. Yet I am constantly on the lookout for a good deal. Obsessed with finding a good deal is more like it.
I hate paying retail for anything and it's rare that I do. I was even kinda pissed the other day when I saw that Goodwill raised the prices of their shirts to $4.85. Yes, almost my entire wardrobe is from Goodwill and secondhand stores. Not only is it cheaper, but it's recycling.
No, I do NOT buy shoes, underwear, socks or bike clothes secondhand! I have some limits (although I did buy a beanie at a garage sale for .25 once)
Damn near my entire house is decorated with a mish mash of used stuff I've picked up at garage sales or thrift stores or with things that have been given to me.
I really love this time of year. Not only because of the beautiful bicycling weather, but because the garage sales in my neighborhood are off the hizzle. I said hizzle!
You can't swing a dead cat around here without running into a yard full of somebody elses' unwanted crap.

"One man's trash..."

It's almost embarrassing to admit, but I put aside about 2 hours every Saturday to roam the streets of East Sacramento going to yard sales and garage sales. I like to think of it as quality "me" time. I even have a planned route I drive that I will not veer from. Shit, this is starting to sound a bit OCD.
But there's nothing cooler than finding that one thing that would just look so perfect in that one place in my house (which looks pretty damn nice if I do say so myself.)
I also love to haggle, and in order to be a true cheap ass, you have to be willing to haggle and be good at it. There can be no shame when you haggle. Last week a lady was selling a sweet hammock for $3. I offered her $2. Now I have a badass hammock.
Garage sales are some cutthroat shit. All parking laws go right out the window. You can park on the wrong side of the street half on the sidewalk with your door open and engine running and it's okay, because it's a garage sale.

I've found bicycles, bike parts, knick knacks, furniture, mirrors and decorations that I could never afford to buy at retail. A lot of which I turn around and sell on Craigslist for WAY more than I paid. Last summer I probably made a good $1200 selling used bikes that I bought for next to nothing, fixed up and flipped.

No, I am not one of those crazy people that buys all kinds of weird things that he doesn't need and I don't have a house cluttered with ugly crap. I do know when to say when.

I'll likely be posting pics of my garage sale treasures in the coming months. Don't be j, but I have a sixth sense for finding really cool stuff. It's a gift, really. So don't you go out there trying to be as garage sale savvy as I am, because you'll likely end up quite disappointed.

Peace!

What a great way to wake up....or not...

You ever wake up and one of your favorite songs is playing on the radio? A while back "Fated to Pretend" by MGMT was just starting when the alarm went off. I absolutely LOVE this song. For some reason, it's just magical to me. I laid there in bed and sang like an idiot while Dewey and Tex just sat and stared at me like "WTF dude, let's get some breakfast going please."

I wonder if what song is playing when the alarm goes off is directly related to how my day is going to go. KISS = today is going to RAWK! Linkin Park = may as well stay in bed because I'm probably going to get hit by a garbage truck as soon as I walk out the door.
Remember that guy who was hiking and got his arm stuck between two rocks and had to cut it off and hike back to civilization alone? I wonder what he woke up to that day. Probably Bob Marley or something.
Maybe I'll buy an alarm clock that plays MP3's or CD's so I can wake up to my favorite songs and every day would be the best day ever.
Meh, probably better not to mess with the universe in that way. I'll just keep playing "Radio Roulette" and see what happens.

Today I woke up to Collective Souls, which leads me to believe that today will suck balls.

I'm new to this, so bear with me.

Yeah, so I'm gonna blog. 123 GO!

I'll start by saying that I am NOT a writer! Not even close. I have pretty good grammar and a decent vocabulary, but that's about it. I don't really use big words and when I do, they're probably not appropriate. Hey, appropriate is kind of a big word. So what I'm getting at is if you're looking to read well written intelligent blah blah blah, this is not the place.
I honestly don't even know what I'll be blogging about (okay, I have an idea, otherwise I wouldn't be here in the first place) and chances are, I'll look at this mess I'm typing right now in a few months and be pretty embarrassed. I imagine there's a blogging learning curve. I'm sure I'll be super awesome at it soon enough.

I lead a pretty dull life, so how interesting this will be depends on the reader.

A little about me:

I'm 40 years old, bald, ridiculously good looking, a bit pudgy (you're lookin' at my gut, aren't you? WELL I'M WORKIN' ON IT!), almost divorced (which I'm sure I'll get into some time in the future), I live alone, have two Corgis named Dewey and Tex who I love more than anything and are honestly the only reason I'm sane today. Okay, so I don't live "alone" but you get it. I'm not looking for love, salvation, enlightenment or really anything in particular other than one of my missing favorite socks. They had little planets on them and were SO comfortable and good at wicking away moisture. Srsly, where the FUCK did it go?

I will NEVER talk about politics.

I ride bikes. I ride bikes a lot. I am in love with all things bicycle. At last count in my garage I had eleven bikes. Yes, eleven. I seem to use commas a lot.

I just started training for Ironman Cozumel which is in November, so you will have to get used to me bitching and moaning about motivation (or lack of), sore muscles, getting up early, bragging about how many miles I swim/bike/run every day, feeling bad because I'm fat and can still run/ride faster than you, which I'm sure will all get old after a while, but it's my gig and will be consuming the majority of my time for the next six months, so stfu and just live vicariously (big word) through me.

Even though I just woke up from a nap, I'm tired and am going to bed.

I think I might like this blogstuff.

Bonjour!